


Fluorescent Dawn

by andchaos



Series: Holiday Fluff 'verse [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Food Kink, Frottage, Language Kink, Light Bondage, M/M, New Year's Eve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-29
Updated: 2013-12-29
Packaged: 2018-01-06 08:27:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1104644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andchaos/pseuds/andchaos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean invites Cas over for New Years and nobody can ever keep their hands to themselves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fluorescent Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> (Enochian translations are in the end-of-chapter notes)
> 
> This is basically a testament to my shameless indulgence of my language kink, and how much I love it when Dean calls him ‘baby.’ Also to the magnificence that is Cas’s ass and hipbones in tight pants (I imagine).
> 
> For those of you wondering about the party outfit, it’s another shameless indulgence, because I’m fucking obsessed with this red tie and vest combo:  
> http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_med3q2a3sW1rm4qguo1_500.jpg
> 
> Yeah, I realized about halfway through this fic that I totally fucked up by making it snow in Santa Clara, but hey, Dean and Sam fight monsters in their universe so in mine there’s some fucking snow in Santa Clara.

Dean’s New Year was a guaranteed warzone.

          Sam got as into decorating for the turning of the year as he did for Christmas, but luckily all Dean had to buy this time around was innumerable bottles of champagne and almost as many cases of beer. He did, however, come home from work one evening (Sam had no classes on Tuesday) and halt in the doorway, because his apartment was entirely unrecognizable. It was decked out in every color, all in varying shades of intensity, gold and white being the most prominent and repeated. The refrigerator had a note stuck to it in his brother’s neat handwriting, reading: _Out with Jess, be back before midnight_ , so Dean busied himself putting away the new champagne bottles he’d picked up on the way home from the salvage yard while he waited for his brother to make an appearance.

          Sam came home at half-past eleven, face pale from the cold, cheeks tinged pink for the same reason. Even in California, wintertime brought a light chill that was more than Sam was used to, so he was also wearing a pair of gloves that usually made Dean accuse him of prissiness.

          Dean had fallen asleep on the sofa, but he jerked awake when the door slammed shut. He levered himself to his feet and sauntered over to where his brother was poking around in the fridge, trying to find something other than alcohol within. He wasn’t having much luck.

          “What’s with the gold explosion?” asked Dean in his grumpy half-asleep voice, waving his hand in a vague motion that included the entire apartment.

          Sam looked over his shoulder at him, rolling his eyes. “It’s two days before New Year’s Eve, Dean. I’m late enough as it is.”

          “Christmas was only five days ago!” Dean complained, shoving his brother out of the way so that he could grab a beer, retreating before Sam could retaliate as he continued his desperate search for something edible.

          “Four days ago, actually,” said Sam absently, like that made it better instead of worse. “Since when are you not into parties, anyway? It’s not like you had to decorate. What happened to the fried chicken from the other day?”

          “I ate it,” answered Dean, waking up a little as he sipped his beer. “And yeah, I guess. I just don’t want to see Rufus too drunk. He’ll start stripping.”

          “That happened _one_ time,” sighed Sam in exasperation, “And we can’t invite Bobby without Rufus, so it’s happening. Anyway, isn’t Cas coming? So who cares?”

          Dean fidgeted a little, more to cover the fact that Sam was actually right than to indicate discomfort. He and Cas were still a little new (had it only been less than a month? _Woah_ ), so things were still exciting (“It makes me sick to be around, actually,” Sam had commented), and although Dean was excited about having his friends meet his boyfriend, he was also experiencing the trepidation that came from knowing _exactly_ how his friends behaved. They were pretty much family, at this point, which gave them license to be that much more annoying.

          “Yeah, fine,” he relented huffily. “Just promise to cut Rufus off after beer ten, and don’t let Ellen near the shotgun.”

          “Obviously,” said Sam, rolling his eyes. “Besides, I’m sure Pam will flirt enough to distract everyone from Cas. Well, everyone with a dick, anyway.”

          “And Charlie.”

          “Nope, she’s bringing Glenda, so no repeats of last year. Ah-ha!” Sam pulled out of the fridge so suddenly that he almost knocked his head, but he deftly avoided the cabinets and kicked the door shut, beaming triumphantly at the half-eaten cake he had unearthed. He offered Dean some, who declined because he was “more of a pie man” and “was going to bed,” but Sam got two forks anyway and they leaned against the counter for another half an hour, making a solid dent in the cake as they discussed the particulars for New Year’s Eve, speculating who was likely to get in the most trouble, and placing bets on how long it would take for Ellen and Jo to get in a fight. Dean figured thirty minutes and it would end in a brawl; Sam said an hour and Ellen would start looking for firearms.

 

The next day, which Sam had dubbed New Year’s Eve Eve when he was a kid (a habit he had not kicked with age), Dean left work early to pick up Cas, because on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday afternoons he had class at a small local college; he was studying to become a professor and teach Latin one day. Personally, Dean wished he’d stuck with the military career track, which he’d quit four years ago at twenty-four, just so he could see him in the outfit. Cas always promised he’d dress up one day anyway, so Dean supposed he could live with the barista gig.

          Cas staggered out ten minutes after Dean pulled up, hair more unkempt than usual and sporting his usual sweater (vibrant blue today). He had apparently woken up late this morning, because he was wearing his black-rimmed glasses (Dean had been spot-on when he’d given them to him; he looked maddeningly attractive in them) instead of contacts. He dumped his books in the trunk of the Impala and then climbed into the front seat. He leaned over automatically to kiss Dean hello, more cursory than passionate, but before he could pull away Dean had grabbed the back of his neck and tangled his fingers in Cas’s hair, making it even messier than before as he deepened the kiss, leaving him red-cheeked and debauched-looking when Dean finally pulled away a few minutes later.

          “Hello, Dean,” he said calmly if not slightly dazedly, readjusting his sweater over his jeans, which, also as usual, were tight enough to spark Dean’s imagination but also to make him more than a little uncomfortable that other people were getting the same view of his ass.

          “Cas,” he returned, nodding in detached acknowledgement.

          Cas allowed Dean his silence for about a minute, long enough for them to leave the parking lot and pull onto the busy main road. Then he asked, “What was that for?”

          Dean hesitated, then shot him an apologetic look. “You have to meet my friends tomorrow,” he said cryptically, and Cas squinted at him, uncomprehending but in a way that insisted explanation. “They’re a pain in the ass,” Dean elaborated, “And you’ll be subjected to a lot of questions. So I’m going to brief you over coffee, and then I’ll probably give you a preemptive apology blowjob.”

          Cas nodded thoughtfully. “Acceptable terms.”

          He wasn’t quite so sure a few hours later, when Dean had given him every piece of advice he could think of—acceptable topics to discuss with Jo, the best complaints about Dean that he could share with Ellen and Bobby to incite automatic approval, a really dirty joke that Cas didn’t fully comprehend but that would earn Pam’s affection. He was a little more sure about half an hour after that, when they stumbled out of the single bathroom to disgruntled murmurs and disgusted glares, Cas still doing up his jeans, which was maybe a little wrong because with jeans that tight he was wholly unable to slip underwear on underneath.

          “You wanna come over?” asked Dean once they were back in the car, partially because Jessica was sleeping over to help Sam cook tomorrow and he didn’t want to be the only Winchester brother not getting laid tonight, and also because he knew Cas’s affinity for evading party set-up, and he was hoping he could tag along or at least use Cas as an excuse. Oh, and Cas was really into road head, he was staring pretty blatantly and shamelessly at Dean’s crotch, and Dean’s apartment was farther than Cas’s. And he really did look good in those glasses.

          Sam was nice enough to pretend not to notice their identical post-orgasm expressions when they walked in (which Dean was still horrified to discover Sam could recognize), or maybe he was simply too uncomfortable to point out that their mutual inability to keep their hands to themselves was reaching inappropriate levels that could probably be classified as a legitimate disorder if kept on in this vein. Jessica was also in the kitchen, preparing some sort of dough that apparently needed to defrost overnight, and Sam took over briefly while Dean and Cas greeted her with affectionate embraces. She was as bright as usual, both literally and figuratively, her grin extra bright against her neon blue crop-top and jeans that complimented her figure nicely. Cas, a little awkward but overly enthusiastic and way too polite, offered to help them, so Dean ended up trapped in the kitchen far longer than he’d originally intended. Evidently, everyone else had decided that with this many people, they should do more than just the preliminaries, and decided to get a head start on some actual baking.

          Of course, there were some perks. He had only ever seen Cas make coffee before, but he was this whole other creature in an actual kitchen. Dean knew he was an excellent cook—they alternated at who played chef when they ate in—but he had yet to have the opportunity to watch him at it. It didn’t hurt that the kitchen area was extremely small, especially with four people crammed in it, so they practically climbed over each other every time someone wanted something from the fridge.

          Sam and Jess were a little more comfortable with public displays of affection than Dean and Cas were, but also more reserved in most other respects. Sam may feel comfortable licking frosting off Jess’s cheek and then kissing her to share the taste, but Dean kept palming Cas’s ass every time he walked by, which made Cas blush but also made him gravitate closer when they were working next to each other at the counter. For the most part, Dean was trying to keep it as subtle as groping could possibly be, but there was one moment where he dropped the knife he was using and nipped at the inside of Cas’s thigh while fumbling for the utensil on the floor amongst the sea of feet blocking his vision. Cas gasped a little, frantically shaking his head when Sam asked, “What’s wrong?” and going still under Jess’s concerned hand, so of course Dean made sure to breathe hotly against his covered dick on the way up, and bump against the same spot with his hand just before he recommenced cutting up whatever the fuck Sam had instructed him to make.

          Cas squirmed a little next to him, apparently trying to get comfortable again in his jeans, and, well, Dean couldn’t exactly have _that_. He leaned close enough that even with his mouth literally _on_ Cas’s ear he could still barely hear him, and whispered, “Later I’ll let you tie me down and touch me ‘til I _beg_ you to let me come,” and grabbed his ass again for the barest moment, and Cas’s shifting became more prominent.

          Sam glanced over at them and raised his eyebrows, and as Dean leaned away hastily he said, “What are you doing?” with more accusation than Dean thought necessary.

          “Just refining his technique,” he answered calmly, gesturing to Cas’s hands, which were as rigid as the rest of his body. Sam stared skeptically for a few more seconds before turning back to his task with a withering glare, and as Jess rubbed his arm soothingly, Dean started up his game again.

          Except that Cas had apparently decided that his boyfriend was a total _asshole_ and that he should fight back. He was busy frosting some sugar cookies, but each time Sam and Jess got a little too wrapped up in each other, Cas turned to meet Dean’s gaze levelly, and, never breaking eye contact, he began sucking the frosting off his fingers so obscenely that Dean was mildly surprised his brother and his girlfriend couldn’t _sense_ the display occurring behind their giggling backs.

          Dean raised an eyebrow, trying to come off as unimpressed. He leaned in again and murmured, “Save some; I’ll lick it off you later,” and so Cas dropped the entire bowl on the floor while staring levelly at him. Whatever was left of its contents splattered. Dean narrowed his eyes as Cas immediately dropped to his hands and knees, apologizing profusely and insisting that he had it covered. Still watching him distrustfully, Dean handed him some wet paper towels and asked if he was sure, and when Cas said he was, Dean and the others turned back to their assorted jobs. Only, Cas was obviously watching Sam and Jess more than he was attending to the mess on the tiles, because the next time the younger Winchester engaged himself in kissing his girlfriend, Cas lifted himself to his knees and literally _mouthed at Dean’s cock through his jeans_ , hands on Dean’s ass. Dean slammed his hands onto the counter, scattering a few utensils and causing flour to erupt in a cloud, but he was unsure if his frustration was of an angry or sexual nature. By the time Sam and Jess jumped and turned around, Cas had already returned to scrubbing the floor clean.

          Ignoring his protests, Dean grabbed a few more paper towels and dropped down next to him. Through gritted teeth, he hissed, _“Dude,”_ but Cas just smirked and whispered back, “We can call a truce,” only it sounded more challenging than conciliatory.

          “You fucking wish,” muttered Dean, eyes fixed on a spot on the floor. “Besides, you think I could keep my hands off you when you’re in those jeans?”

          Cas laughed. “These are the only type of pants I own.”

          “I know,” said Dean seriously, and Cas stopped laughing instantly.

          They both paused, watching each other, and without another word, got to their feet. Dean wasn’t entirely sure where that left them, so he went to start preparing more frosting, but then Cas casually leaned over from where he was kneading dough and said lowly, “Which is better, my ass in these jeans or me speaking Enochian while I fuck you?” and Dean dropped everything he was holding. Cas smirked and leaned away, evidently satisfied, but then Dean said loudly, “Well, I’m officially bored of this shit. I’ll leave you rugrats to it, I’m going to bed. Cas?”

          He started to back away, Sam still grumbling about the rugrats comment and Cas formulating a weak protest, but then Dean flashed the container of frosting he had behind his back, and Cas dropped what he was holding, too, and followed him a little too quickly to properly placate Sam and Jess.

          Not that Dean cared much, he thought, as he kicked the door shut and slammed Cas into it, trying to have them crash simultaneously so his brother wouldn’t get suspicious. He wasn’t too sure he succeeded, a notion that he reflected upon as he left a trail of open-mouthed kisses down Cas’s neck, his hands already pushed up his sweater; barely a minute later, music started in the kitchen, slightly too loud to be natural.

          Dean slotted their hips together and Cas rutted up against him, gasping when Dean grabbed his wayward hands and pinned them to either side of him on the door.

          “Are you going to make good on your promise, Cas?” he asked, voice low, faces close, and Cas whined at the sudden inattention, hips stuttering as he sought friction, but Dean crowded him closer to the wood so that he couldn’t properly move, just make this semi-pathetic rubbing motion.

          Dean seemed to be expecting an actual answer, so Cas swallowed several times and finally managed to gasp out, “W-what?”

          “Are you going to dirty talk me in Enochian while I make you scream?”

          “I—I don’t think that was the deal— _Ah_!” He choked off when Dean’s mouth hit his skin again, sucking at his collarbone as his hips recommenced their previous grinding.

          “I’m waiting,” Dean growled against him, pausing again.

          _“Micma ollog nanaeel od ol ollog ipam niis nostoah,”_ Cas gasped immediately, stifling a particularly loud moan when Dean’s movements started up again, _“aspt olani nanaeel nostoah niis ol.”_

          Dean didn’t know what the fuck he’d just said, but he didn’t care. He continued nipping and sucking at various parts of his neck and torso while gathering both of Cas’s wrists in one hand, twining the other through his hair and tugging with every few rolls of his hips.

          Cas was having trouble formulating more phrases. Dean released him, chuckling darkly when Cas groaned but did not, surprisingly, move from his position on the door. Dean slipped his own shirt over his head and said in a low, commanding voice, “Get the fuck on the bed,” because Cas kind of loved it when Dean swore, and he obliged while Dean gathered the fallen frosting container from the ground. When he turned back around, Cas was staring blatantly and a little possessively at his ass, palming his dick through his jeans.

          “You want a show, Cas?” asked Dean then, shoving his hands out of the way so that he could climb onto Cas’s lap. He gave his chest a light shove; Cas laid down immediately. “Fine. A show it is.”

          He barely even noticed the little circles his hips were making against Cas’s while he tore off the top of the container, because the friction was soothing his aching cock just a little. He _did_ notice the tiny noises escaping Cas’s mouth, which was apparently his attempts to stay a _little_ quieter than usual as a show of respect for Sam (even though he probably already had Jess stripped down over the counter, but Dean was trying _really_ hard not to think about that at the moment), but mostly it just gave Dean an idea. He put the open container down and leaned over Cas, hands on either side of his neck so that his face loomed close.

           “Okay, here are the rules,” he growled, ignoring the nails Cas was pressing into his bare sides. “I’m going to do whatever I want to you, and you’re not going to speak unless you do it in Enochian. And if you go too long without saying anything, I’m going to stop. Understand?”

           “ _Yes_ ,” Cas gasped desperately, still clawing at him. “ _Please_ , Dean.”

           “What?”

          Cas’s voice shook slightly as he amended, _“Oiad, Oiad,_ _olani vnig ol!”_

          Dean grinned a little predatorily, and Cas shivered. Dean shifted backwards so that his head was level with Cas’s navel and started leaving little marks along his prominent hipbones, then settled his mouth over the tattoo half-hidden by his jeans. He pressed tiny bite marks in between the letters while shoving the blue sweater up over his chest. When it was as far as he could reach—Cas had lodged his hands in Dean’s hair—Dean licked his way back up to the hem of the sweater, then settled his ass over Cas’s lap again while he lifted it over his head. Cas pawed at his bare skin, evidently frustrated with the limited room to maneuver while Dean’s weight was on him.

          Dean smoothed Cas’s hair back and reminded him, “Say something.” Cas was usually plenty vocal, but it tended to be repetitions of Dean’s name mixed with nonverbal noises.

          _“Olani svrzas ol Oiad,_ Dean,” growled Cas,

          Right, so that sounded more like a threat than anything else, but if there was one thing Dean liked more than hearing Cas groan out foreign languages, it was hearing Cas say his name, so he let it go.

          He let Cas grind their cocks together in an uneven rhythm that was all he could manage from his pinned position, raking nails down Dean’s chest and mumbling his name over and over, while Dean picked up the frosting from the bed beside them.

          “Do you even realize,” Dean began slowly, spreading the food in haphazard, pointless designs over Cas’s chest and stomach, “Exactly how difficult it is to watch you work? Shaking your ass in those tight black jeans, with your fucking glasses—did you know you look fucking _spectacular_ in those? And then sucking your fingers clean, _teasing_ me?”

          He reached over and put the container on the bedside table, then sat back a little more so that Cas lost the only leverage he had.

          “Do you like teasing, Cas? Fine,” said Dean in a low murmur, ignoring Cas’s whimper and twitching hips. He brought to his lips the two fingers he had used to cover Cas’s torso, watching his desperate expression carefully as he parted his mouth open and let his tongue flick slightly over his fingers. Cas’s breathing sped up and a small whine escaped; Dean let them slide all the way into his mouth, remembering to give Cas a clear view of him sucking them clean, his tongue sliding down the digits and back up. When he was done, he removed them even more slowly, and Cas bucked in earnest.

          Dean leaned over him, his elbow pinning the arm not currently squeezing his ass, and brought their lips close enough that he could feel the air between them, warmer than the rest of the suddenly-sweltering room.

          “I thought you wanted a show.” He shifted again, forcing Cas’s legs further apart as he settled between them better, rolling his hips down hard but measured, so that they could both feel every bit of their erections sliding together in the slow grind. Then he closed the distance between their lips, pressing them together. Despite his lack of haste, he still had fire searing through him, and he kissed him harder than he’d meant to; Cas evidently didn’t mind, as the grip on Dean tightened and he moaned, tilting his head a little and parting his lips slightly, sultry and inviting, allowing Dean to plunder his mouth with his tongue. Cas could taste the echoes of frosting, sweet and prominent beneath the natural flavor of Dean.

          Dean briefly forgot about teasing him, hands sliding down his sides, smoothing over the waistband of his jeans and deftly popping the buttons there, and—holy _fuck_ , he _still_ wasn’t wearing underwear, which Dean supposed made sense if he’d stopped to think the matter through. As it was, Dean resolutely ignored the whine he received when the friction of his own cock was removed in favor of the desperate noise he earned when it was replaced with his hand, not bothering to properly remove Cas’s pants before he wrapped around his throbbing cock. He started a steady rhythm, swallowing every moan he wrung out, but after a minute or two he suddenly remembered the task at hand and pulled back. Cas gasped, “I’m sorry— _Dean_ —I’m sorry— _ag, nanaeel ipamis,”_ and tried to chase his mouth, but Dean only chuckled as he slid down Cas’s body, pressing more kisses to the exposed skin as he went until he reached the spot where he had smeared the lowest. Cas tangled one hand in Dean’s hair again, the other grasping at the pillow that he arched further back into, and Dean desperately wanted his lips on that perfect stretch of bared neck, so he instead held Cas’s hips down to stop him from offering that same temptation as easily. His tongue darted out, smoothing over the frosting, lapping it up, and Cas struggled to arch his back again, whining plaintively when Dean’s grip on him prevented that.

          “Cas,” he whispered, nipping admonishingly at his skin, making him squirm a little.

          _“Oiad,_ Dean, _plapli ollog!”_ Cas shouted, and if either of them had been paying attention, they might have noticed the music outside turning a little louder in response.

          Dean stifled a slightly embarrassing noise by pressing more bite marks and bruises into the skin splayed out below him. When he was relatively composed, he recommenced his tongue’s careful mapping of Cas’s stomach, clearing away the mess.

          “I want—” Cas panted, still writhing as he watched Dean work, “ _Fuck_ , Dean—” And, because Dean stopping at this point was basically unthinkable, he spit, _“Olani gil ol plapli ollog!”_

          Dean licked along the last of the frosting, lapping it up with a strange reverence, hands still on Cas’s hips, and then he looked up, eyes wide and dark. “What?”

          “I want— _Dean,_ ” he whined, legs shaking a bit against the mattress. _“Plapli ollog crcrg olani ipamis insi!”_

          “Cas—”

          _“Olani vnig ol nenni ol!”_

          Dean levered himself up, pressing more open-mouthed kisses along Cas’s collarbone and neck, licking at his pulse point and nibbling at his jawline.

          _“Olani vnig ol_ , Dean! _Oiad,_ Dean, _Oiad, Oiad_ —”

          Dean was feeling a lot less aggressive now, his debt repaid, and he pressed a light kiss to Cas’s lips, both hands on the bed for balance as he lifted himself up. As soon as his hips were free, Cas bucked up into the fantastic heat between Dean’s legs, matching his hardness exactly, and as they ground together, Dean momentarily forgot what he had intended to say. He instead helped Cas blindly kick off his jeans, moaning involuntarily when Cas’s hands found the buttons on his own and undid them, hands already working over Dean’s aching cock through his boxers. Suddenly, it was very unfair that Dean was the only one with any clothes left.

          Cas was babbling his name between deep kisses, but when he tried to formulate sentences again—“I want— _Olani gil—!”_ —Dean shushed him, still moving together as he pushed one hand through Cas’s hair and gently tugged on his bottom lip with his teeth.

          “Shh, Cas, it’s okay. Just tell me what you want, baby.”

          “I want—I _need_ you, Dean, I need to touch you—”

          Dean kissed him again to quiet him, as his voice was shaking and desperate and Dean was suddenly aching to give him what he wanted, whatever he wanted. Because the thing about Dean was, he liked to act all tough—but when it came down to it, he wanted to be the one to bend over. And Cas was feeling a little vindictive right now, after everything. So when Dean said, “Then touch me,” Cas eagerly pushed at his shoulders until they flipped, and for a moment he just lay there, feeling all of Dean against himself.

          Now it was Dean’s turn to paw at Cas’s shoulders, but instead of Enochian curses he was chanting _baby_ and _fuck_ between renditions of Cas’s name. Cas licked a line from the hollow of his throat to just under his ear, then pulled the lobe between his teeth and nibbled, his hands running paths over the expanse of Dean’s chest and sides. When he reached Dean’s ass, he suddenly growled, a guttural noise against Dean’s neck where Cas’s lips were currently pressed. He tugged at Dean’s boxers like they were personally offending him by interrupting his otherwise flawless view, and Dean kicked them off in record time. Their lips met again, and their tongues, and Cas pulled him even closer, increasing the delicious friction between their bare cocks to perfection, despite—or perhaps because—they had nothing but precome smoothing the way.

          Dean was engaged in kissing his neck when Cas’s rhythm started to stutter, and Dean muttered, “Come on, Cas, come for me,” and caught his lips in another long kiss to muffle the loud noises Cas tended to make when his orgasm hit; seeming to recognize the not-exactly-private state of affairs, Cas bit down _hard_ on Dean’s bottom lip when he came, and Dean continued the slow grind of his hips, helping him through it. When Cas managed to lift himself on shaky arms from where he’d collapsed on top of Dean, he immediately noticed the mark he’d left on his mouth.

          “’M sorry,” he mumbled, dragging his tongue belatedly over the wound, but Dean was still really fucking hard so he didn’t exactly care about the pain at the moment. He was mostly focusing on the lazy way that Cas licked into his mouth, his tongue running over the roof of Dean’s in the way that always made him moan. Then, eyes still half-closed, sloppy but not unpleasantly, Cas kissed a path down Dean’s body to his throbbing cock, which he took into his mouth without preamble.

          “ _Fuck_ , baby, fuck fuck _fuck_ ,” Dean grunted, arching off the bed.

          Cas swallowed him down without trouble, tongue pressed along his cock, throat muscles working around the head, and Dean could feel his own orgasm building when Cas suddenly pulled off.

          Dean let out a choked cry, something like “Cas— _shit_ —” but Cas was smiling wickedly now, like Dean was going to get exactly what he deserved and nothing less.

          “My turn,” Cas declared, and before Dean could ask what the hell he was talking about Cas had said, “Don’t you dare move” and crawled back up his body. A full-body shudder passed through him, hands curling and uncurling on the sheets, but he did as asked, even though there was six feet of naked sex god on top of him. He scrunched his eyes closed, trying to get his body back under control.

          And then Cas murmured his name insistently, and he opened his eyes into vibrant blue ones just above him. Cas kissed him deeply for less than a minute before moving back between his legs, and then his hands were on him again. Dean looked down and holy _shit_ but Cas was covering his cock in frosting, and when he seemed satisfied he threw the container on the floor and drew Dean back into his mouth, carefully, teasingly, his focus seemingly on the frosting as he alternatively licked and sucked with similar determination.

          Dean was coming in no time—with nothing to stifle his cries, he was fairly sure that he’d shouted out, but he couldn’t be sure. Cas continued working his mouth over him, helping him through it.

          When Dean eventually collapsed backwards, Cas crawled back up the bed. Dean slung an arm around his shoulder, tucking him into his side, and Cas pressed his face into Dean’s shoulder willingly, one arm sprawled across his waist. Dean chuckled and removed Cas’s glasses, which were _way_ askew, and put them on the bedside table. Cas mumbled a thank you and nuzzled closer while Dean reached up to shut the light. The music from the other room was a little loud for Dean’s preference, but he felt that he did not currently have a lot of room to ask Sam to keep it down.

          “Hey Cas?” he asked in the darkness, hoping to catch him before he passed out.

          Cas grunted sleepily, apparently unable to fully work his vocal chords at this point.

          “Why do you always wear your glasses during sex?”

          “I don’t _always_ do it,” he protested weakly, too tired to muster the appropriate venom to argue the point. “Only when I don’t have my contacts.”

          “Yeah, but _why_?”

          Cas made a weak shrugging motion. “So I can see you properly.”

          “Oh.” He was quiet for a few more seconds. “Cas?”

          Another grunt of acknowledgement.

          “That tattoo really is sexy.”

          Cas sighed, his breath blowing across Dean’s bare stomach. “I know, Dean. You tell me that every time you see it. Can I get a question now?”

          “Go ahead.”

          “Why do you only call me ‘baby’ when we’re engaged in some sort of sexual situation?”

          Dean paused. He didn’t really have a clear answer, it just was something that slipped out of his mouth sometimes. “Do you want me to call you ‘baby’ more often?”

           “Mm-hmm.”

           “Okay.” Weird. Cas wasn’t that into most pet names, so of course Dean teased him with them often.

          “Okay,” repeated Cas, yawning and shifting around in the dark, then pulling a blanket up to their waists. “I’m going to sleep now. Feel free to take that as your cue to shut up.”

          “Yes, _baby_.”

 

~*~

 

It was colder in the morning than it had been last night, even though last night hadn’t qualified as _warm_ by any standards (their personal opinions on the matter probably didn’t count in this scenario, because _yeah_ , Dean could probably walk out totally naked into zero degree weather if Cas was yelling dirty things at him in a different language the whole time).

          Dean was the first one up, but he didn’t immediately move—Cas was adorable when he slept, but kind of annoying in the practical sense, not that Dean minded the clinging and cuddling (not that he’d admit that, either). He shifted Cas off of him in increments until he was finally free and winced when he was fully exposed to the cold air. He fumbled on the ground until he came up with a pair of sweatpants, which were clean enough for the morning, and went to go find some coffee.

          He was halfway through a decent bacon-and-egg sandwich when Jess came in, apparently attracted by the smell. They chatted while he made her one, too, and when his brother stumbled in ten minutes later, Dean, figuring Cas would be up soon too, just made enough for them all. His was cold by the time he sat down again, but bacon was bacon so he didn’t really care.

          He was piling plates in the dishwasher when Cas came in, messy-haired and bleary-eyed behind his glasses, and Dean kissed him hello—Cas winced a little when his hands tightened on his waist, and _yeah_ , and much as Dean liked seeing Cas shirtless, this morning probably wasn’t the best time, because Dean had left a _lot_ of hickeys on him last night and Sam was gagging while Jess politely averted her gaze—and went to heat up his breakfast. Cas sat down while he microwaved a sandwich, and Jess said lightly, “Good artwork there, Dean.”

          Sam spit out his coffee and Dean choked, but Cas was laughing unabashedly. At least the guests seemed to relax after that, even though Dean’s red face didn’t dissipate for another hour and Sam swore he was scarred for life.

          Sam and Jess went back to baking after that, as they apparently hadn’t gotten much done after the other two had gone to bed. Before Cas could volunteer his services again, Dean, panicking slightly, said, “We’ll go on a liquor run.”

          At his brother’s skeptical glare, he added, “Come on, Bobby won’t live off beer and _champagne_ ,” and even though it was clearly a cop-out, it was also a fair point, so they were permitted to make their escape.

          They retreated back to his room to change, because even though Dean insisted that Cas looked _much_ better like this, it wasn’t the proper weather for partial nudity. Dean scrounged up a flannel and jeans; Cas pulled his jeans back on and one of Dean’s old t-shirts and giant sweatshirts, partially because he was adamantly against wearing his old sweater after he’d spilled coffee on it yesterday morning but mostly because they couldn’t find it, buried in the mess that was Dean’s floor.

          “Happy New Year’s Eve, by the way,” said Dean as they walked outside, hand-in-hand and shutting the door behind them.

          “Be quiet. I’m still mad at you for making me get dressed this morning.”

          “Well, if you wanted to—”

          “You’re digging the hole deeper,” he warned, and got in the passenger’s seat without another word.

          Even though Cas liked Dean’s music, he was obsessed with playing with the radio dial while they drove, despite the ensuing arguments every time.

          “Come on, man, driver picks the music!”

          “—and shotgun shuts his cakehole, yes, you’ve told me this,” said Cas dismissively. “Enya’s better than your tapes, though. And it has a better holiday feel.”

          “How do you even find a station willing to play that crap?”

          “Easy. I just look for the ones with _taste_.”

          They bickered good-naturedly (Dean would never admit he was actually annoyed) all the way to the liquor store, which was disturbingly crowded for ten in the morning. They had fun picking out eccentric flavors of vodka, well aware that Bobby would curse them out when he drank cinnamon Smirnoff instead of regular. The guy behind the counter stared blankly at them, looking heavily bored and mightily hungover, while he rang through their frankly frightening amount of alcohol.

          By the time they got back, Sam and Jess had, blessedly, finished baking—unfortunately, they were starting on hors d’oeuvres. However, Dean’s warning look was enough to make them wave away Cas’s offers to help, although the smirk Sam was giving him didn’t say “You owe me one” so much as “I don’t want you groping your boyfriend in my presence again.” Dean shrugged—a win was a win—and Cas dragged him back out to the car.

          Dean began to make some lewd comment about backseat sex, but before he even got started, Cas said seriously, “What do I wear to impress your family?”  Which is how Dean found himself, half an hour later, sitting on Cas’s bed, fully dressed while his boyfriend stripped down repeatedly in front of him. The only, slight relief was that Cas was facing away from him so that he could examine himself in the mirror. In between focusing on his prominent and tempting hipbones when he changed shirts, Dean was appreciating the vision that was Cas’s ass in his favorite jeans, on which he seemed to have settled. Fuck, he probably wasn’t supposed to get off on this. Except he knew that Cas never wore boxers with those jeans.

          “What about this one?” asked Cas finally, turning around and spreading his arms to give Dean a better view of the black button-down. He had removed his glasses in favor of contacts, to Dean’s disappointment.

          “Uh—”

          _“Dean!”_ Cas said suddenly, because he had evidently noticed the way Dean was shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “Come on! You’re supposed to be helping me.”

          Dean groaned and threw up his hands. “I don’t give a fuck what you wear! Come on, baby, twenty different strip teases in a row and you think I give a shit whether your black shirt goes with your black pants?”

          Cas frowned at him, then down at himself. Instead of answering, he started undoing his shirt again. Dean made another irritated noise, and then a slightly more guttural one when his tattoo was visible once again.

          “You know,” said Cas conversationally, and Dean’s eyes flashed up to meet his in the mirror; he was smirking knowingly as he put on a different shirt. “I should never have told you to call me ‘baby’ on a regular basis. Considering its origins, I find it surprisingly erotic even out of context.”

          “Now you’re just being a dick,” Dean complained. “And a tease.”

          Cas grinned, abandoning the last few buttons on the white button-down and leaving his collarbone exposed. He came to stand beside Dean—who was totally _not_ nearly panting looking up at him—and started to card his fingers through his hair. After a few repetitive strokes he pushed at Dean’s shoulders, and Dean shifted a little further back on the bed so that his feet were still on the ground but Cas could comfortably straddle his lap. Dean’s hands automatically went to his waist. Cas leaned in and nipped at his ear, then breathed, “It’s not teasing if you intend to do something about it.”  When he ground his hips down, Dean threw back his head and moaned, and Cas immediately pressed his lips to the newly exposed neck.

          “We’re gonna be late to our own party if we don’t—if we don’t—” Dean pointed out, but Cas was still rutting against him and he wasn’t exactly _stopping_ so much as thrusting back.

          “Have they _seen_ you, though? They’ll understand,” muttered Cas, still kissing his neck, but he captured Dean’s lips instead when his hands started pushing at Dean’s flannel.  “I’m making you wear a blazer tonight, by the way.”

          Dean laughed. “Is this lapdance a subtle plot to convince me to get dressed up?”

          Cas pulled back, raising his eyebrows innocently, though this gesture was heavily offset by the hands he had on Dean’s ass. “Was I being subtle? Allow me to clarify.”

          His hands moved up and then followed the lines of his waistband to the front of his jeans, whose buttons he opened easily. He lifted himself onto his knees so that Dean could lift his hips and Cas could get his pants off more easily, and he took his boxers with them; they ended up around his knees, and Dean had to kick them off properly. Cas shoved at Dean’s shoulders so that he laid down and then slid down the bed so that he was sitting between Dean’s calves. Dean made an aborted grabbing motion at him before letting his hands fall and clench at the sheets when Cas bent down and wrapped his lips around Dean’s cock. Whatever Cas’s obsession with blowjobs was, Dean wasn’t complaining. Cas went slowly at first, tonguing at the slit while his hands scratched down the sides of Dean’s thighs, but when Dean ground out, “ _Please_ , baby,” Cas sank down properly, moaning, legs shaking as he struggled not to touch himself.

          Dean noticed. He lifted onto his forearms, staring down at the man between his legs, and said, “Cas—” He wasn’t exactly sure how he intended to finish that, but it didn’t matter. Cas looked up at the sound of his voice and pulled off.

          “What, Dean?” he asked, moving to straddle him again, voice low, expression virtuous, his ass grinding down onto Dean’s cock, and he rutted back shamelessly, desperate for bare skin instead of jeans despite his usual affinity for them. Cas continued,

          “You want to see me touch myself at the sight of you getting off?” Another filthy dig down on his cock. “You want to watch me come just from the feel of you beneath me?”

          Dean made another noise, a desperate, low, back-of-the-throat sound, and started fumbling with the catch on Cas’s jeans. Cas laughed darkly, but his hands were contrastingly gentle where he smoothed them over Dean’s chest. Dean finally got his jeans open and curled his fingers over the edge, but before he could get far enough inside, Cas covered his hands with his own and pinned them over his head. When he leaned down, their faces were close enough that their noses brushed, and Dean’s breath caught.

          “You’ve had your turn,” Cas reminded him, and Dean’s eyes flicked to the exposed skin of Cas’s neck and collarbone, where several of last night’s marks were visible. Cas bound Dean’s wrists with one hand and brought the other to the back of Dean’s head, bringing him up for a short but filthy kiss, and then leaned back.

          “Stay,” he said as he removed the hand on Dean’s, and then sat up properly. Keeping perfect eye contact, Cas stroked one hand up into his own hair, arching his back, and wrapped the other around himself.

          Dean moaned at a combination of the view and the feeling—Cas, sitting in his lap and getting off to nothing but the sight of his own naked body, and the friction of his ass continuing its rough grind down on his own erection.

          Cas was unbelievably sexy like this, and in keeping his promise to hold his arms steady, Dean had nothing to do but watch and cant his hips up in time to meet Cas’s thrusts.

          Plus the dirty talk.

          “Say something,” Cas panted, opening his eyes, wild, searching for Dean’s own.  “Tell me what you’ll do to me later. When we have more time.” He paused. “Or what you’ll let me do to you.”

          Now that, Dean could run with. Even though he moved his hands to do it, running them as far as he could up and down Cas’s sides, pushing up his shirt. And Dean was _graphic_ , with a particular focus on ties and hickeys to match Cas’s. His possessive kink was getting increasingly evident.

          So right before he came, Cas said something as simple as, “You are gorgeous. And all _mine_ ,” and they both let go at the same time, screaming each other’s names.

 

Between the impromptu dry-humping and the subsequent shower sex, they were only about thirty minutes late. Cas was in this horribly attractive black silk shirt, rolled up to his elbows and partially covered by a black vest. A red tie was tucked in and he was still in his skinny jeans, though he’d added a belt, in part to discourage Dean’s drunken groping. Sam rolled his eyes when they walked in—at this point in his life, he was supremely unsurprised with Dean’s ability to shag anything, anytime, but he was even more amazed (and disgusted) with Cas’s ability to keep up with him. Not that he said anything. Aloud.

          Dean went to go change into a white button-up, black slacks, and a black blazer (Cas had won that fight), but was hailed with loud, cheery greetings when he returned. Everyone was pleased to see him, even though most of his friends hid it behind snide comments and flimsily-constructed insults. Ellen accosted him where he had taken up refuge near the food, making small talk with the friends that dropped by and mostly staring at Cas where he was situated across the room, talking animatedly to a boy named Ash who was decked out in faded flannel, sleeves cut off, and sporting a superb mullet. Ash was a few years younger than Dean but infinitely more intelligent. Cas was probably keeping up with him perfectly. Dean was totally not sulking.

          “I know your boyfriend’s pretty, boy, but there’s a room of your closest friends who came up here to see, specifically, _you_. Now what are you doing hanging out by the dip?”

          Dean looked up, smiling at her. “Hey, Ellen,” he said easily, “How’s things by the Roadhouse?”

          “Same as ever,” she replied.

          He chatted with her for a few minutes before claiming he needed to rescue Cas and slipping away; he liked Ellen perfectly fine, but it seemed a shame to stand around talking to her when he could be touching and talking to Cas.

          Not that Cas needed rescuing. He was discussing classical literature and something about common mistranslations in popular Greek stories when Dean walked up, and any self-deprecating thoughts of worthlessness faded when Cas granted him with a brief but sunny grin and threw an arm around Dean’s waist, never once halting his monologue about the critical changes in the hero’s character when certain phrases weren’t copied out precisely.

          Dean wasn’t subtle. Actually, he was a little drunk, which he attributed to the way he raked the hand currently around Cas’s shoulders through his hair, lazy and deliberate, as he listened to his boyfriend spit some meta about ancient texts. Ash was nodding along and occasionally offering counterpoints, but Dean didn’t understand a word. Not that that was stopping him from enjoying the gravel of Cas’s voice, which never ceased to seize his interest. After awhile, though, Dean started plucking at his collar, the languid smile still on his face, his gaze straying from the movements of Cas’s lips down to rove over his scruffy jaw, which he had a penchant for biting, and his tie, about which he was currently making bets with himself about how quickly he could pull it off with his teeth.

          Ash seemed to notice; he excused himself after another few minutes, saying, “’Scuse me, dudes, but I promised Garth I’d make him one of my famous Blitzers,” and wandered over to the drinks table. Cas turned to Dean, frowning unimpressively.

          “ _Dean_ ,” he complained, extricating one of Dean’s hands from where it was still smoothing through his hair and wrapping the other in his own, removing it from where it was playing with the knot of his tie, but not letting go of it afterward.

          Dean might have leaned in to kiss his neck if the room wasn’t full of people. As it was, he was slightly inclined to act on this whim regardless, except Cas looked like he would push him away. He was rubbing his thumb along Dean’s but carefully keeping the rest of their bodies separate, apparently trying to reduce temptation, but with distance came a better view and he looked completely…well, stunning. In a delectable sort of way.

          “Stop looking at me like that,” said Cas, sternness offset by a shy smile. “ _Dean_. We’re in a corner but people can still _see_ us, and they’re going to _notice_.”

          “So?” he asked, fingers of his free hand toying with the edges of Cas’s belt. Cas canted his hips toward him very slightly, not enough to be a conscious decision but definitely enough to encourage Dean further. “You don’t think they noticed the hickeys all up and down your neck?”

          Cas laughed and gathered his other hand, too. “Yeah, well. You promised I get to give them back to you later.”

          “Mm, no, now,” protested Dean, leaning closer. “Come on, baby, you look so good in that tie. I bet I can get it off without my hands.”

          Cas sighed and pressed his lips to Dean’s ear, whispering, “If you knock it off now, I’ll tie you up with this tie later. Okay?”

          Dean chuckled. “You’re not really calming me down.”

          Cas rolled his eyes, releasing Dean’s hands as he stepped away. “You’re a child,” he said scornfully, and went to go procure another glass of champagne.

          Dean glared after him. “High-maintenance,” he muttered.

          The evening wore on, and Dean only tried to publicly rub himself up on Cas twice before eleven. Cas was still fending him off, but as he consumed more champagne and rum-and-cokes he took a progressively longer time to shove him away; luckily, everyone else was also getting drunker. Rufus had already had to have his shirt wrestled back on by a thoroughly repulsed Jo, while her mother and Bobby doubled over laughing in the corner. Sam and Jess were getting sloppier in the not-so-secretly-exchanged kisses, and Pam was flat-out making out with Chuck in one of the armchairs, although she was on his lap and he looked as though he had only recently realized that he had bitten off more than he could chew.

          Around eleven-thirty, half an hour after they had turned on the television to Times Square, Dean had Cas backed against a wall in what had somehow become the shady half of the room. His mouth was on his neck _again_ (someone should really take him to a psychiatrist, because this addiction was getting out of control) and Cas was trying not to make eye contact with anyone, one hand fisted in Dean’s hair, the other making a vain attempt at keeping Dean’s hips at a safe distance from grinding into his. He was having enough trouble not making noise as it was, he didn’t need direct stimulation. He wasn’t _that_ drunk.

           Everyone else was, though, so no one was paying them much attention, even when Cas pulled him up for drunken kiss that was too much tongue and not enough finesse, not that either of them cared. Cas only pulled away when Dean started tugging at his vest again, trying to figure out the buttons.

          “Come on,” he said quietly, breathing against Dean’s cheek, while Dean tried to angle his mouth back toward Cas’s. Cas grabbed his hands again, drumming their fingers together without rhythm. “Half an hour until the ball drops and we can go to bed. Okay? Dean?” He said his name even more quietly, freeing one of his hands and dragging it up his side. “Okay?”

          Dean pulled his hands out of Cas’s grip, going back to lightly playing with the buttons on his vest, not really trying to undo them. Cas’s hand settled on his forearm.

          “You’re extra needy today,” he said, and he was still warm enough from the alcohol that a laugh bubbled up through his words.

          Dean grinned. “Been drinking,” he mumbled, shuffling closer.

          Cas raised an eyebrow warningly. “Half an hour.”

          Dean considered him for a minute, then went back to pressing hot, lingering kisses to the scruff below his jaw. “No, no, can’t wait that long, baby,” he murmured against his skin, and Cas groaned. “I need you. I need you so badly. Come on, Cas, please—”

          _“Dean.”_ He’d meant to sound insistent, not desperate. Strange.

          “Cas,” he returned mildly, finally managing to break open a few of the buttons, and Cas couldn’t really find it in him to stop him.

          “We—We’re in a crowded room—”

          “My room’s over there,” Dean muttered, breaking away just long enough to jerk his head in the right direction before returning to his task.

          “We only have half an hour—”

          “Can’t wait, baby, I want you, I want you to hold me down so I can watch you fall apart on top of—”

          “Ah-hem.”

          They both looked up, already simmering down at the prospect of a new arrival. Upon recognizing Sam, Cas shoved Dean away. He didn’t fall back far, but he also didn’t try to insinuate himself closer again.

          Sam raked his eyes up and down the pair of them, rolled his eyes, said, “Save it for when you’re in private, _Jesus_ ,” and walked away.

          Dean laughed and ran his hand through his hair. Cas pressed himself closer to the wall behind him, trying to will himself to calm down. He should probably redo some of his buttons. He was having some trouble seeing straight, and he didn’t think it was from the alcohol. Nobody was paying them much attention—most of the people nearby where engaging in similar activities, or else were so drunk that they were creating a whole new set of problems—but he was still very conscious of the way Dean was looking at him.

          “Stop it,” Cas snapped.

          “The sex hair’s not helping,” he accused, carefully not promising anything.

          Cas hissed, “ _You_ did that, assbutt,” and dragged him by the hand to go socialize with his friends.

          In the moments that Dean wasn’t trying to publicly grope him, Cas actually befriended most of the Winchesters’ surrogate family. He really liked Ash, of course, and thought Andy’s mix of intelligence and eccentricity was intriguing if not endearing. Jo, of course, was as charming yet independent as ever; she remembered Cas from his and Dean’s first date, where she’d served them at the Roadhouse, and was fond of teasing him even when he didn’t get the joke. For someone so smart, Cas was surprisingly technophobic, but he listened with intrigue while Charlie discussed her hacking hobbies with him. He still had a lot of questions, but she seemed perfectly willing to answer them in detail, with Glenda and Dean shooting exasperatedly bored looks to each other every few minutes.

          At two to twelve, everyone started drifting toward one another, already preparing to pair off. Cas extracted himself from a conversation with Garth, one of Sam’s law school friends, and made his way across the room to where Dean was sitting on the couch with a glass of whiskey, talking to Benny about a job on which they were working at the salvage yard. He threw back the rest of his champagne and set it down on the coffee table, then offered a hand to help Dean to his feet as the one-minute countdown began. Dean reached up to grab his hand but didn’t stand up, just let their joined hands swing in the void between them while he finished what he was saying to Benny. With thirty seconds to go, Benny stood up and crossed the room, sliding an arm around his fiancée, Andrea, and leaned down to whisper in her ear. She turned to face him, laughing, and Cas looked away like he was watching something private.

          Ten seconds to go. Dean squeezed his hand, watching Cas’s excitement visibly manifest as he watched the numbers go down.

          Three…two…one…

          “HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

          Cas jumped, brimming with the high, and spun around to find Dean grinning up at him. Cas swung one leg over Dean’s, sat down heavily on his thighs, and kissed him.

          They both knew from past turning-of-the-year parties that they weren’t the only ones that would be letting this kiss go on way too long—most people tended to do the same thing—so they didn’t bother themselves with propriety. Cas angled Dean’s head back, shifting over him, tongue sweeping lightly over his lips, and Dean opened up immediately.  Cas licked into his mouth with purpose, writhing somewhat shamelessly in his lap. Dean was scratching at his lower back, edging on the entirely inappropriate region of his back pockets, when Cas pulled away, fingers trailing along Dean’s cheek. He chased Cas’s mouth when he sat up.

          “Cas, Cas, Cas, baby,” he panted, grasping at his ass.

          Cas pressed kisses all along his jawline, reaching as far as the corner of his mouth before starting the line over.

          “It’s after midnight,” Dean gasped. “You said—”

          Cas leaned down, and he was practically growling when he hissed in his ear: “Your room is nowhere near isolated enough for what I plan to do to you.”

          “Cas?”

          “Think you can last to my apartment?”

          “Mm, you’re too drunk to drive,” Dean chuckled. Cas laughed back, loudly enough that he started to question it himself.

          “Come on,” Dean coaxed, nosing at a spot below his ear, “Music’s loud, no one gives a shit, and I—”—he squeezed his ass again, grinning—“—want to make you scream.”

          Cas considered him, then suddenly sat back, ignoring Dean’s whine of disapproval. He grabbed Dean’s half-full glass of whiskey, tossed it all back in one go, and had barely put it down before he was dragging Dean to his feet. Right before he shut the door, Dean saw Jo eying them and smirking.

          Cas grabbed him almost before he had fully turned around, shoving him at the bed, toward which he backed up willingly. He used Dean’s shoulders for balance as he crawled back onto his lap like he loathed having had to leave, knees on either side of his waist. Dean was having a little difficulty keeping himself up at this angle without bracing himself on the mattress, but he didn’t care, because Cas was above him, his thighs digging into his own, wrestling off his blazer and spreading his hands across his chest underneath the dress shirt.

          Cas pushed him down and slowly divested Dean of his shirt, too, kissing down his torso as more skin appeared with every undone button. He batted away Dean’s hands every time he tried to unclothe him back, voice a low rumble.

          “It’s my turn,” he said, pressing his lips to Dean’s neck between every few words, “Remember last night? How you drew it out? How you made me beg for it?”

          Dean smirked—wickedly, challengingly, either way Cas was going to erase the gesture.

          “I don’t remember much actual _begging_ ,” Dean said loftily.

          Cas shoved Dean’s shirt properly off his shoulders and threw it across the room. “That will be the difference between you and me.”

          Dean rubbed his thumbs into the skin just above Cas’s waistband, his mouth slightly open while Cas slowly undid his tie. Dean strayed toward the clasp on Cas’s jeans as he slid the red tie from his collar, but before he managed to undo it, Cas had grabbed his wrists and leaned over him to bind his hands to the headboard, hovering close enough that Dean leaned up to kiss him while he worked. Cas let him, half of his mind on the hands making a knot against the bones of Dean’s wrists, the other half on Dean’s tongue in his mouth.

          He pulled away when the tie was tight, pulling on Dean’s bottom lip with his teeth. Dean groaned in protest, but with his hands bound he couldn’t do anything but buck his hips. Unfortunately for him, Cas was sitting directly on him, and he didn’t have the room to create the proper friction.

          “C-Cas—”

          “Shh, _gaha_ , it’s okay,” he murmured, in contrast to the hand he had fisted in Dean’s hair or the tongue he was dragging over his stomach, pretending not to notice Dean’s increased breathing when he laved over a nipple. “I’m going to take care of you.”

          “Is that a threat or a promise?”

          Cas grinned, sitting up and working on his vest and, afterwards, silk shirt. “Maybe both. Let me know.”

          Dean was leaning toward punishment when he had a perfect view of his tattoo and hips but couldn’t touch either. He went to work on Dean’s jeans next, making him lift up so that he could pull them off, dragging his boxers with it. He pressed kisses to his inner thighs that trailed up to his hips, avoiding Dean’s cock despite how he angled toward Cas when he passed it.

          “Not yet, _gaha_ ,” Cas said, nipping at the part of Dean’s stomach that he could never get rid of, no matter how much exercise or diet he attempted. He personally hated it, but Cas thought it was adorable, not that he ever used that exact word.

          Dean whined again, trying to press his aching cock against Cas’s as he worked his way back up Dean’s body. He slotted their hips together and complied, covering Dean’s mouth again with his own, but pulled away when Dean started twitching beneath him.

          “Cas, baby, don’t—”

          “You wish you could do this for me, don’t you?” Cas interrupted, starting to undo his belt, ass grinding down. “Instead of just laying there, watching me touch myself, unable to do anything—”

          Dean breathed his name again, once more bucking against the man on top of him. “I want to—”

          “Sorry, _gaha_ ,” whispered Cas, leaning down to kiss him again while dropping the belt on the floor beside the bed. “Tonight, it’s my rules.”

          He had to roll onto his back beside Dean while he wrestled his own jeans off, and Dean took the opportunity to kiss at his shoulder, which was as far as he could reach. Cas climbed back on top of him afterwards, mouth everywhere he could fit it from his position, and Dean struggled futilely against his bonds, hooking his ankles around Cas’s waist.

          “Baby, I need you—I want you—I want you to—”

          Cas interrupted him by pressing a hard, hot kiss to his lips, and Dean, writhing desperately beneath him, opened up immediately for Cas to curl in his tongue. Cas swiped across the roof of Dean’s mouth, which dragged a moan out of him, and then resumed kissing his neck.

          “Cas, baby, please—fuck, Cas, fuck me! Please, baby—”

          Cas suddenly smiled against him, teeth scraping his skin. “God, Dean, all you had to do was _ask._ ”

          He started moving down his body again, taking his time, occasionally pausing to pay extra attention to random spots like this one freckle on his chest and a scar he had just to the left of his navel.

          “Have you been waiting for me to say _please_ this whole time?” Dean huffed, aggravated, still twisting on the mattress and trying to get leverage or friction or _something_ , his whole body begging along with his voice.

          Cas looked up at him from between his legs, fingernails scratching down the backs of his thighs, mouth close to his dick without actually touching it, and then instead of answering he resumed sucking bruises into the skin all around.

          Dean’s legs, still hooked around Cas’s back, tightened noticeably, heels digging in.

          “ _Please_. I want you to—I want you, please—”

          And then Cas’s mouth was on his again, and he was saying, “I’ll do anything you want, Dean, just tell me,” without ever parting their lips fully. So when Dean panted out, “Please, Cas, I need you—Fuck, please, just fuck me,” Cas pressed a light kiss over his heart and said, “Of course, _gaha_ , whatever you need.”

          He licked a path back down and whispered, “Tell me if you want to stop,” before trailing one finger back behind him, and Dean was a still pretty drunk and he didn’t know when Cas had acquired lube but he was pressing a slick finger inside him and Dean tried not to arch back as he clenched around him, still groaning Cas’s name while he stretched him open.

          “I’ll take care of you, _gaha_ , haven’t I promised? I always do,” Cas murmured, still feathering kisses and presses of his tongue all over, raking the nails of his free hand down Dean’s chest. “Don’t worry, I’m going to take care of you.”

          It certainly felt more like a guarantee than a threat now, as he pressed in a second finger and began scissoring him open, pushing down on his chest in a nonverbal plea to hold still.

          “I know, baby, please—just do it, I don’t care, I need you—” He cut off on a moan when Cas added a third, mouth busy over one of his nipples.

          “Mmm, no, you’re not ready yet,” Cas hummed, “You need to be prepared. I don’t want to hurt you.”

          “You won’t—I can take it, _please_.”

           Cas hushed him gently, working him open while he gasped and thrashed above him.

          “F-fuck—”

          “Almost,” Cas murmured, and Dean let out a shaky laugh, as well as something that sounded vaguely like, “I hate you.”

          “You don’t hate me,” Cas said in an almost chastising tone. As he said it, he thrust his fingers in particularly deep, stroking along his sweet spot, and after his initial, sort of flailing reaction, Dean started babbling again,  a repetitive mix of _oh god_ and _I need you_. Cas laughed quietly and pressed another kiss to his sternum, then pulled out, swallowing Dean’s unhappy gasp.

          “I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” he murmured, petting down his sides. Meanwhile, Dean’s legs were still pulling at him, hands clenching around nothing.

          For a moment, there was nothing, no hands on him at all, and then Cas was back, hands on his neck and shoulders, pressing into him slowly but determinedly. He kept a grip on him, squeezing his arms comfortingly every few seconds while Dean breathed unevenly against his cheek. Then they were both panting, and he was keeping as still as he could while Dean adjusted to the feel of Cas inside of him.

          After a full minute, Dean groaned, “ _Move_ , baby.”

          “Are you sure—”

          _“Move.”_

          Cas shifted to get proper leverage, and then started a steady rhythm, slow at first, his strokes shallow. Dean struggled against the tie while Cas alternated between biting at his neck and sucking on his tongue and bottom lip. With the ankles still hooked around his waist, Dean pulled him in deeper, and Cas sped up, pulling out more before thrusting back in, harder and rougher than before. He knew he got the angle right when Dean let out a choked cry, and Cas pulled his hair, swallowed his moan, and did it again, and again, and again.

          Dean was a wreck. He was shaking and basically whimpering, begging Cas to touch him, to let him come. Cas made a small movement against his jaw, scruff rubbing together, part nuzzle and part head-shake.

          “My rules,” he reminded, nipping at his earlobe.

          “I know, I know,” Dean gasped, feet scrabbling over Cas’s ass. “But _please_ , I need to. I mean, I mean, I need you. P-please…”

          “Not yet,” snapped Cas, sterner now, and he abandoned his mouth’s endeavors (ignoring Dean’s renewed protests) to glare down at him.

          Dean wore a twisted expression, and Cas thought it was beautiful. He was torn between pleasure, pleading, and frustration, obviously hoping Cas would help him, but he was remarkably determined in glowering for someone who hadn’t stopped thrusting his cock up his boyfriend’s ass. Dean tried to say something, but all that came out was a pained whine.

          “Who’s in charge?” Cas growled, tugging insistently at his hair.

          “Cas, please…”

          “Who’s in charge?” he repeated even more fiercely.

          “You are,” Dean cried out. “Baby, please. I need you, I need you, please baby, you’re calling the shots, just touch me, please touch me.”

          Cas bit his lip to hide his grin. He kissed him again instead, and he took the hand not fisted in his hair and wrapped it around Dean’s cock. The strokes of his hand matched those of his hips and those his tongue was making against Dean’s.

          “Let me—”

          _“No_.”

          Dean begged, Cas declined, and finally his rhythm started stuttering. At this point, he was slamming into him, and Dean’s legs were shaking around him. He could no longer form any words that weren’t _god_ , _please_ , _Cas_ , or _baby_ , and Cas was still jacking his cock in measured strokes. Finally, he leaned down, his breath a little shaky where it puffed against Dean’s jaw, and murmured, “ _Gaha_ , let go,” just as he gave one more thrust so their hips were flush together and came. Dean was loud, pushing as much as he could against Cas’s hand on him, and he barely felt it when Cas tugged far too hard on his hair.

          Afterwards, Cas rolled off of him, then tilted his head to the side so he could kiss him while he reached up to undo the knot in the tie. Dean brought his hands to his chest, rubbing at his wrists, and Cas made an apologetic face and kissed him one more time before tucking his head into his shoulder.

          “Are your wrists okay?” he asked, stroking at Dean’s waist with one hand, the other pushing hair off of his sweaty forehead.

          “I don’t mind,” Dean answered evasively, one arm around his shoulders, playing with a piece of Cas’s hair.

          Cas frowned, grabbing at Dean’s wrist and examining it.

          “I’m sorry,” he said after a moment, pressing his lips to the red mark. “You should have told me. I would have stopped if you said it was hurting you.”

          Dean chuckled, kissing the top of his head. Cas let his hand drop.

          “Do you really think I could have let you _stop_?” Dean asked incredulously, making lazy circles on his shoulder. “That was awesome.”

          Cas huffed a laugh against his skin, a sort of affirmation. They lay in comfortable, post-orgasmic silence for a few minutes, both lost in thought, and then Cas suddenly declared, “I want to go to sleep.” Dean obligingly hit the lights and Cas found some of the sheets that had been accidentally thrown to the floor, pulling it over their legs. He cuddled back against Dean’s chest, one leg hooked over one of Dean’s, and closed his eyes.

           “Happy New Year, Dean.”

          Dean smirked. “Yeah. _Extremely_ happy New Year, Cas.”

**Author's Note:**

> Right, so, I was using this translator (http://tikaboo.com/enochian.jsp) and occasionally this dictionary (http://www.sacred-texts.com/pag/enoch1.txt), and since it’s still under construction, I had to switch some words here and there. These are the legit translations, but if it sounds a little off, that’d be why. Plus, I had to do one word at a time, if you’re gonna bitch that the linguistics are fucked up. Anyway. In order:
> 
> “Hold me down and make me beg for it, before I do it for you.”  
> “God, God, I need you!”  
> “I swear to god, Dean.”  
> “No, don’t”  
> “God, Dean, take me!” (Note: This was supposed to say “touch me,” but I couldn’t find a translation for “touch”)”  
> “I want you to take me!” (Note: This was supposed to say “fuck me,” but I’m not sure English swears translate to Enochian)  
> “Take me until I can’t walk!” (Again, imagine this says “fuck” instead of “take”.)  
> “I need to have you!” (Supposed to be, “I need to touch you”)  
> “I need you, Dean! God, Dean, God, God—” (All these “god”s were supposed to be “please”s, but I couldn’t find that either. Guess angels didn’t beg.)  
> “I want—”
> 
> gaha = baby


End file.
